


It Comes In Threes

by Nekoluver



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, not exactly a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekoluver/pseuds/Nekoluver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blow jobs don't fix panic attacks</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Comes In Threes

**Author's Note:**

> I went through a lot of panic attacks to write this

Breaths coming in short, sharp gasps; tears burning in his eyes and down his cheeks; teeth grinding against each other in an attempt to stave off the tremors. It isn’t working. Dipper takes a deep breath, holds it 1… 2… 3… He breathes out slow.

It isn’t enough. The next breath hurts like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to his rib cage. He tries to breathe deeply again, to swallow it down, but it hurts. It hurts, it hurts,  _it hurts_.

There’s something- Deep breath, blink slow, tries to gather his thoughts. It feels like ghosts of something lurking under his skin, pushing outward from inside his veins. It needs out. He needs to get it  _out_.

Desperately stumbling to his feet, Dipper manages to slam himself against the nearest wall with a whimper. He closes his eyes, face pressed into the rough grain of the wood. He tries to focus on it, tries to breathe again. Can’t. Doesn’t. Nearly falls into the bathroom and shakily locks the door.

The porcelain of the sink feels smooth and cool beneath his fingertips. He tells himself to study it, to let the sensation distract and ground him. It works momentarily – not nearly long enough. His hands are warm, clammy, slipping against the surface. There aren’t enough distractions in the world once it’s gotten this far.

Jamming himself into the dry bathtub is probably pretty high up on the list of 'Most Pathetic Things Dipper Pines Has Done' but he can’t find the energy to care. It’s not like anyone’s going to see him, he just… needs this. Small, cool spaces, and…

His hands are shaking- he wishes they weren’t. Makes it more difficult; frustrates and scares him. Makes him feel pathetic. He grasps the knife tighter in his hand, taking a deep breath before lodging his lower lip beneath his teeth and dragging the sharpened metal across his skin.

  1. 2\. 3.



Harsher, faster with each slice.

Drip, drip, drip. Mesmerizing.

“You know if you wanted pain-” Dipper’s chest feels hollow, eyes spinning in their sockets to find the source of the voice. No one. There’s no one. He closes his eyes, counts to three, opens them. There’s a man crouched in front of him, grin plastered on his face. “All you had to do was  _ask_.”

Dipper’s eyes flick quickly over the intruder, drinking in every minute detail as quickly as they can. Blond, suit, dark skin, eye patch. The eye- the visible eye is glowing gold. Dipper can’t look away. He’s been silent for too long, but he can’t remember how to form words.

The man grabs Dipper’s injured arm, smearing crimson as he draws it closer and closer to his mouth. Dipper should pull away, should be afraid. He feels numb. The stranger drags a forked tongue across the abused flesh. “Heya, Pine Tree,” he whispers, eye sparkling as he meets Dipper’s gaze.

The cuts are stinging, throbbing. “Get your filthy hands off me you equilateral fuck,” he grinds out through his teeth.

The grin spreads once more across the man’s face, smearing his mouth with blood and revealing canines too sharp for a human to possess. “You always say the sweetest things.” It comes out as a purr.

Dipper swallows, remembers he still needs to breathe. The air is starting to feel thick in his throat again. “Wh… what do you want, Bill?”

The demon lunges, planting himself between Dipper’s legs, face pressed into the crook of his neck. He exhales all at once, hot breath sending shivers down Dipper’s spine. “I could smell you from the Mindscape.” It’s practically a moan.

Bill’s mouthing and Dipper’s throat and Dipper’s trembling again. He tries to hide it, but Bill’s too close and it’s  _too much_. It’s all too much. Too much, too soon, too close. His momentary high started falling when Bill showed up and now it’s drastically plummeting through the floorboards. He gave his blood penance to the world, he should be  _fine_. Would be, except Bill… That bastard ruined everything and now Dipper can’t  _breathe_.

He feels lips curl against his throat, and his whole body tenses. It hurts. His muscles are tired. “Hey kid,” Bill breathes against his flesh. “Have I ever told you how  _delicious_  your fear is? Oh, I can practically  _taste_  it.”

When fangs sink into the vulnerable flesh of his shoulder Dipper means to scream. It comes out as a moan instead, hips thrusting up on instinct. He doesn’t have time to analyze it. Bill’s mouth is hot, tongue flicking incessantly at the wound he’s just made. The wound itself feels cold, stinging – it’s probably bleeding.

Bill’s whining softly, claws pawing at Dipper’s shoulder blades. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so fucking creepy. “Pine Tree~” he draws it out, practically begging right in Dipper’s ear. “It’s not  _enough_ ~!”

Dipper’s heartbeat skyrockets again. “Wh-” He closes his eyes, swallows, tries again. “Th-the hell do you  _want_?”

Bill pulls back, faux innocence plastered on his face, but his eye’s sparkling with mischief. His claws rake lightly down Dipper’s injured arm, stopping to wrap around his wrist. “Do you trust me?”

Dipper has to pause, mull it over, replay it. Did Bill honestly just  _ask_  him that? “Fuck no,” he says finally.

Bill’s mouth curls up into a predatory grin. “Give me the knife, Pine Tree.” Dipper drops the weapon into Bill’s outstretched hand and feels his breath catch. Without hesitation, the dream demon grabs the knife and Dipper’s arm, spinning around until he’s pressed against Dipper’s chest. The strain hurts a little but it’s fine. Dipper tells himself it’s fine.

Bill wiggles around a bit to get himself comfortable. He seems way to giddy, and frankly this is a terrible idea all around. “Deep breath,” Bill mutters absentmindedly, and Dipper complies without question.

Slash, slash, slash.

The pain that comes is so fucking welcome, Dipper’s head falls against the back of Bill’s neck. He can feel more than hear the soft laugh at his reaction. He forgets to care enough to stifle his moan when Bill’s mouth latches onto the bleeding limb. His free hand finds itself at Bill’s side, fingers digging in.

Nuzzling his nose against Bill’s shoulder, Dipper feels drunk. There’s a warm buzzing in his skin and suddenly all of his focus is on the other man’s body. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the sickly sweet scent of  _Bill_. He wants to taste it. Doesn’t. Stops himself by pressing his face in harder so he can’t lick or bite- Fuck he shouldn’t want to, but he  _does_.

Suddenly Bill has him pressed against the bottom of the tub, nose-to-nose, and Dipper’s head is too foggy to process how they got there. There’s a tense staring contest, a brief moment of breathing in each other's air. Dipper’s heart is pounding hard enough to hurt, arms held above his head at an awkward angle, spine grinding against the porcelain. Then they’re kissing, rough and messy. Bill’s canines are tugging at Dipper’s lip, iron and heat passing between their mouths. He should be repulsed.

His hips move of their own accord, desperately grinding up against Bill. The demon’s eyes flash dangerously, “Careful, kid.”

Dipper smirks up at him, all false confidence and bravado. He twists his arms, managing to scrape dull nails against the demon’s hands. It serves well enough as a distraction, allowing Dipper to grind their hips together more aggressively. It elicits sharp gasps from both of them, erections pressed together deliciously.

It feels  _good_. He does it again, testing it. It feels good and it shouldn’t, but it shuts his brain up for a second. He arches his back as much as he can, relishing the friction. He cranes his neck to crash his lips again against his sworn enemy’s because why the fuck  _not_.

He loses time after that. Of course he loses time- his brain is a fucking mess. Coming to with his pants around his ankles and Bill’s mouth around his dick is both horrifying and amazing. He presses his knuckles against his teething, training his best to stifle the sounds threatening to escape. That sinful mouth feels  _good_.

Bill’s eye meets his suddenly, a smirk drawing across his lips as if he’d reading Dipper’s mind. Bastard probably is. Whatever, Dipper can’t really be bothered to care, especially when Bill suddenly swallows him whole. A loud moan escapes his lips, both hands tangling in blond hair, tugging harder when the demon’s moan vibrates against the sensitive flesh of his cock.

Dipper can’t think. He’s fucking Bill’s mouth before he can stop himself. He expects the demon to be pissed, but he seems into it, moaning softly with every tug at his hair. He’s using Bill like some sort of living sex doll, but the demon is actually enjoying it. It’s exhilarating.

Dipper can’t bring himself bring himself to stop, to slow down, to care whether or not a dream demon requires air to survive. He’s past control. He can’t bring himself to pull back until his cum is literally dripping from Bill fucking Cipher’s mouth.

Fuck, that’s hot.

The crash afterwards sure as hell isn’t. One minute he’s riding the high of his life, the next he’s a whimpering, pathetic, half naked mess curled up in a cum splattered bath tub.

He feels Bill pull back, step out of the bathtub. Hears him mutter, “Gross” just before there’s running water in the sink. Hears Bill gargle it, swirl it around his mouth before spitting it out.

Gross. Gross. Gross.

It’s him, isn’t it? Dipper. He’s gross. He’s repulsive.

Footsteps draw closer once more. Dipper counts them- 1, 2, 3. A kiss is pressed against his hair. He can barely feel it, can’t register what it means.

“Bye, kid.” Bill murmurs before vanishing. Was he ever there at all? Dipper’s eyes finally focus on the triangle shaped wound on his arm. It’s deep, but its’ barely bleeding. He wishes it was bleeding more. He focuses on it until his eyes burn, fill with tears, and spill over. He curls even further against himself, sobbing so hard it hurts. The exhaustion seems into his bones, drawing him into a restless sleep that only ends when Mabel’s pounding at the door.

He gets up, rinses the tub, puts on clothes. He opens the door, smiling and apologizing for falling asleep in the bath.

Lie. Smile. Pretend.

Another day comes to an end only to repeat the cycle tomorrow.

Again, again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> This probably isn't the healthiest way to deal with your problems, guys...


End file.
